


Demons of The Past

by leontina (Leontina)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Love/Hate, M/M, Possessive Tom Riddle, Tom is Harry's age, to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 11:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10830750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/pseuds/leontina
Summary: Harry and Tom were childhood sweethearts who broke up in their final year of Hogwarts when Tom's fascination with the Dark Arts became too much for Harry. Five years later Tom is slowly taking over the Ministry, and meets Harry again when he is arrested for rioting against the Ministry--and neither of them ever quite got over the other.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for Kohl-Lips on Tumblr for a Dark fic exchange.
> 
> This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've written for at least three years but it's fun to be writing one again :D

**1st Year**

_1st September, 1991_

“Excuse me! Could you tell me how to get to platform nine and three-quarters?”

Tom looked up at the sound of the platform number. He spotted a small boy, who couldn't possibly be any older than Tom himself, talking with an unamused Muggle station worker. 

The boy was thin, perhaps overly so, with messy dark hair, glasses that had a mass of sellotape wound around the middle, and clothes that were far too big for him. Tom couldn't help but feel a connection to the boy; the last foster parents Tom had stayed with certainty hadn't cared enough to dress Tom in clothes that were clean or fitted properly.

“Excuse me, boy?” Tom called out as he hurried over to him, glancing up at the clock which said there was still ten minutes to go until the train left. 

The boy looked towards him, confusion morphing into hopefulness when he saw the large trunk that Tom was dragging behind him.

“Hi!” The boy greeted breathlessly. “Are you going to-?”

“School, yes,” Tom cut in. “I couldn't help but overhear that you don't know where the platform is.”

The boy flushed. “Nobody thought to tell me. I only heard it existed a month ago.”

Tom crinkled his nose. The boy appeared to have been raised by Muggles like Tom, but when Professor McGonagall had visited Tom she’d been very professional and told him everything he needed to know. 

“You have to run at the barrier, right between platforms nine and ten,” Tom explained. “I’ll go first so you can see.”

Tom took a confident stride towards the barrier and felt magic wash over him as he passed through it. The boy appeared moments later, looking much more relaxed. 

“Thank you,” the boy smiled, green eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “I don't know what I’d have done if I hadn't run into you. I'm Harry, what's your name?”

Harry offered out his hand, and Tom eyed it warily for a moment before shaking it.

Tom wasn't the kind of boy who made friends easily, or felt the need to. He was plenty happy on his own and didn't need anyone else. Something about Harry seemed to resonate something within him, though.

He offered Harry a smile of his own.

“I'm Tom.”

_12th November, 1991_

Draco glowered as Harry sank down onto the bench beside Tom.

“Problem, Draco?” Tom asked snidely.

“Gryffindors don't belong at the Slytherin table,” Draco sneered, but there was little venom in his voice. Draco had quickly learned that Tom was in charge.

“Neither do whining babies,” Harry retorted, stealing the bread roll off Tom’s plate and giving him a sly smile.

It was a shame that they’d been Sorted into different Houses. The other Slytherins were just about bearable now, but they’d started off the start of term by mocking Tom for his Muggle heritage until Tom had made a point of showing them why nobody should mess with him.

Since then they’d fearfully tried to befriend him or politely avoided him, but Tom considered nobody a friend but Harry—Gryffindor Harry who came from a broken home like Tom, and had courage and heart bigger than his body. He was so different to Tom in character but they got on so easily, like they belonged together, two parts of one person.

The other Slytherins were just going to have to get used to Harry, because Tom wasn't going to ditch him anytime soon.

_19th June, 1992_

“How long have you been able to talk to snakes?”

Tom looked away from the adder and to Harry, whose hair was gleaming in the sunlight.

The school year was drawing to a close and lessons with it. The weather was pleasantly warm so, like most students, Tom and Harry had chosen to relax outside in the shade of some willow trees.

“As long as I can remember,” Tom answered, petting the snake’s head gently. “One of my foster mothers lived in a rural village and there were lots of snakes there that I spoke to. She sent me back to the children's home because of all the snakes coming into her house; she blamed me and said I was a freak.”

“My aunt and uncle think I'm a freak but they don't have anywhere to send me,” Harry said quietly. “I wish I didn't have to go back to them this summer.”

“It can't be worse than the children's home,” Tom muttered darkly. “I hate it. I wish we could both just stay here for the holidays.”

“I’d like that,” Harry smiled. “Having Hogwarts to ourselves would be brilliant.”

“Pity that idiot Dumbledore wouldn't let us,” Tom growled. He already wasn't fond of the headmaster, who was the only professor who didn't think that Tom was the best student in the year, even better than that Granger girl.

“I like Dumbledore,” Harry shrugged. “I suppose he just has rules he has to follow.”

“You're so naive sometimes, Harry,” Tom said, and when Harry frowned he quickly added, “I’ll miss you this summer.”

Harry's expression softened again.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

**2nd Year**

_1st September, 1992_

Tom was waiting for him on the platform.

Harry grinned widely, running towards his friend and dodging the crowd. He almost made it to Tom clean until his trunk got caught in a pothole and Harry fell onto Tom instead.

Tom caught Harry easily and looked down at him with an amused smirk. Harry wasn't sure if it was just the angle but Tom seemed to somehow be even taller now than he had been at the end of term.

“Hey,” Harry greeted sheepishly, untangling himself from Tom’s arms and standing straight.

“And you want to try out for Quidditch this year?” Tom teased, giving Harry a slow look up and down. “Come on, I want to make sure we get a compartment to ourselves.”

He grasped Harry's wrist, pulling him towards the magical barrier that led to platform nine and three-quarters.

Once they were settled on the train, indeed in a compartment of their own, Harry finally felt able to relax.

He’d had a miserable summer and the thought of being back at Hogwarts and with Tom had been the only thing that had got Harry through it.

“Rough summer?” Tom commented, demonstrating his uncanny ability of always being able to tell what Harry was thinking.

“The worst,” Harry stated. “The Dursleys are scared of me using magic against them so they completely ignored me which seemed good at first, but after a week of no communication, scraps of food and being shoved outside all day…”

“I can't believe they get away with treating you like they do,” Tom growled. “You must have some other family somewhere. _I_ must have. I think I’m going to research our families this year.”

“I’ve got you, at least,” Harry smiled. “That's all the family I need.”

_25th December, 1992_

Christmas at Hogwarts was quiet but beautiful. Hardly any students stayed behind, and Harry and Tom were the only two from their year. 

It almost felt like having the castle to themselves, and as all the other Gryffindors had gone home, Harry invited Tom to Gryffindor Tower every night where they slept in the common room in front of the fireplace.

They sat there now, both wrapped in a duvet and sipping creamy hot chocolate. Firelight cast golden shadows across their forms, and allowed them to read the research parchments Tom had found.

“I had a godfather,” Harry said quietly, looking down at the photo of the handsome Sirius Black. “And he’s the one who murdered my parents.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said, patting Harry's shoulder. “Azkaban have visiting hours if you ever want to go and talk to him.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “What is there to say to a man like that? I'm sorry you couldn't find anything about your family.”

“I must be looking in the wrong places,” Tom shrugged. “I'm sure I’m an heir of Salazar Slytherin—I have to be, being a Parselmouth—but his lineage is almost impossible to trace for the last two centuries.”

“Always knew you'd have some powerful wizard as an ancestor,” Harry grinned. “No wonder you're best in class.”

“Natural skill has also taken me far,” Tom smirked. “Fancy a game of Wizard’s Chess? I'm sure you'll come _close_ to beating me one day if you keep trying.”

Harry's grin grew. It was always easy being with Tom.

_18th April, 1993_

“Are you sure about Arithmancy? Isn't that just maths?” 

Harry crinkled his nose at the thought.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Arithmancy is far more than just maths; numbers have immense power and importance in magic. Divination, on the other hand, is nothing but superstition; cross that off your list, Harry.”

“Ron’s taking it,” Harry said with a shrug, scratching a line through the subject anyway. “I don't know what options to take! How am I supposed to know what I’ll like until I get there?”

“Think of the value of the subject instead,” Tom suggested. “Divination we’ve already discussed, and Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures are both pointless; that leaves Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. But do what _you_ want, Harry; I can't pick for you.”

Harry went for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes anyway, because then even if he hated them, at least he’d have Tom in his class.

**3rd Year**

_21st August, 1993_

The summer sun glinted off Harry's dark hair as he closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sun. 

The rooftop of the old, abandoned train station gave a perfect view of the centre of London, the Thames stretching out in front of them.

Tom stretched his legs out and looked over Harry fondly. He’d sent Harry some money, that Tom had stolen from his social worker, so that they could spend the summer in London together.

So far it had been perfect, better than lurking the streets of London on his own.

“Do you think we'll be caught up here?” Harry asked, running his fingers across the rooftop and flicking loose stones from it.

“We’re magic,” Tom answered simply. “Muggles can't touch us.”

“Muggles aren't as bad as you seem to think, Tom,” Harry said. “They're not all bad.”

Tom rolled his eyes but didn't answer. Harry was simply too sweet to understand; Muggles had done nothing but let them both down until they’d been accepted by a world of magic instead. 

Magic was power, magic was strength, and magic was might. The other Slytherins knew that, and were coming to respect Tom as their better, but Harry's heart was just too sympathetic and kind to truly resent anyone.

Tom couldn't hate Harry for it, though. Regardless of Harry's naivety, he was still Tom’s best friend and perhaps the only person Tom actually cared about. 

_4th October, 1993_

“I just don't understand Arithmancy,” Harry huffed, tossing his book onto the desk where it landed with a heavy thud.

“It's quite simple really,” Tom said smoothly. “You just need to clear your head so you can figure out the numerical equations easily.”

Harry snorted. “That's easy for you to say, Mr-Best-In-The-Class.”

Tom fixed Harry with an amused smile. “You're smart too, Harry, you just need to focus a bit more. Academic intelligence is by no means equal to street smarts.”

“Street smarts doesn’t get me through school though, does it?” Harry pointed out. 

“You're not going to fail, Harry,” Tom retorted calmly. “I’ll tutor you.”

There were lines of Slytherins begging Tom to tutor them, but he had no interest in helping them and gave them excuses that still managed to make them think he was polite.

Tom would gladly give his time to help Harry, however.

“Thanks, Tom!” Harry smiled. “If we can get me to an _A_ then I’ll be happy.”

“I’ll get you an _O_ ,” Tom said confidently.

_1st June, 1994_

“I think my godfather is innocent.”

Tom stared at Harry unblinkingly.

“Sirius Black, found guilty of three counts of murder and conspiring against the Ministry, is actually innocent?” Tom repeated. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn't that Tom didn't believe Harry—he certainly believed the Ministry capable of making such a mistake—but Tom liked to go on fact rather than faith.

“I was doing some research,” Harry said, lowering his voice, “and it turns out Sirius’s family were all blood purists who disowned him for going against their beliefs. His cousin Bellatrix was sent to prison not long after Sirius, and there were rumours she'd been the one to frame him along with the supposed third victim Peter Pettigrew, but the Ministry never bothered to follow up on that lead. And I just have this _feeling_ , you know?”

“I imagine the Ministry wouldn't have wanted to look incompetent by admitting they’d arrested and immediately jailed a man who was actually innocent,” Tom murmured. 

“I can't leave him if there's a chance he could be innocent, Tom,” Harry said seriously, eyes glistening in a way that had Tom yearning to protect him. “I know it's far-fetched-”

“But there's a chance you're right and you need to go for it,” Tom cut in. “I’ll help you, Harry; what are friends for?”

**4th Year**

_31st October, 1994_

“And the Champion for Hogwarts is...Cedric Diggory!”

Harry watched as Cedric got to his feet beaming, and walked towards Dumbledore to shake his hand.

“Diggory?” Tom murmured from beside Harry. “I suppose he's the best Seventh-Year had to offer. I could have easily bested all the Champions.”

Harry grinned. “Shame you're too young. It would be fun to be a Champion but I reckon you'd have to prepare a lot for the tasks.”

“And we all know preparation is not your strong suit,” Tom said with an amused smirk of his own. 

“It would have been something more fun to do than schoolwork, though,” Harry pointed out, because as much as he loved Hogwarts he still found living at school a bit dull at times. 

Unless he was with Tom, of course. Harry could never grow bored with Tom.

_25th December, 1994_

Harry couldn't help but glare at Daphne Greengrass. She was easily the prettiest girl in their year, with long legs, blonde hair, and an ample chest. She was every boy’s dream date, and as Tom was every _girl’s_ dream date it was natural that they had ended up going to the Yule Ball together.

It made Harry's stomach twist for all the wrong reasons. Tom was his best friend; Harry wasn't supposed to fancy him. 

But Harry still fancied him regardless.

Tom was tall and handsome and witty, and the star in some of Harry’s more confusing dreams. He’d recently realised that he liked boys the same way he liked girls, and that he liked Tom more than _anyone_.

Harry knew he couldn't say anything, though; his friendship with Tom was far too important to him and he didn't want to make Tom uncomfortable. 

No, Harry would just have to stay quiet.

But watching Daphne smile brightly as Tom span her round in a dance, Harry knew that staying quiet would be difficult.

_30th June, 1995_

Sirius Black had wild hair, scrappy clothes, and an impossibly tight hug.

But still his arms around Harry were comforting in a way he’d never experienced before, like the hug of a father.

“Oh, Harry,” Sirius breathed into his hair. “I’m so sorry I couldn't be there for you all these years.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Harry said, patting Sirius’s back gently, not quite able to reach his shoulders. 

Harry pulled back from Sirius before the hug became too crushing. He glanced at Tom who was waiting patiently at the side, looking rather pleased with himself.

Sirius followed Harry's gaze and sent Tom a grateful smile.

“I can't thank you enough, Tom!” Sirius said seriously. “All those letters you sent to the Ministry...convincing my insane cousin to give a confession…”

“I said I could do better than the Triwizard Champions,” Tom replied confidently. “Besides, I care about Harry and I want to see him happy.”

The words made Harry’s heart feel warm, and he took a shot and drew Tom into a hug. Tom stiffened for a moment but quickly relaxed and rested his cheek on top of Harry's head as he wrapped his arms around Harry.

It felt exactly where Harry needed to be.

**5th Year**

_5th August, 1995_

It wasn't that Tom hadn't expected Harry to spend time with his reunited godfather, but he certainly never expected Harry to suddenly spend _all_ his time with Sirius.

The last two summers Tom had spent with Harry had been wonderful with just the two of them, but now Harry was too busy with his new godfather and his new house to see Tom.

Luckily Tom knew where Harry lived, so he told his social worker he was staying with a friend for the summer and invited himself over to Harry's.

Harry readily invited him inside and offered him a room to stay in, as Tom had known he would. And he didn't even bat an eyelid when Tom suggested he move a bed into Harry’s room so they could sleep together.

Tom knew he was probably being a bit petty, far more than he would be with any other person, but Harry mattered to him a lot and he wanted to make sure Sirius knew that. 

Sirius was a decent enough man, if not a bit depressed, but that was to be expected after spending over a decade in Azkaban. Besides, anyone was better than the abusive Dursleys, and Tom would rather fight for attention than see Harry sent back there.

No, it was a good thing that Sirius was out of prison an innocent man with custody of Harry. Tom knew he would always be Harry’s number one anyway.

_23rd November, 1995_

Harry was attractive, that was clear to see. He had a cute face, striking green eyes, and a kind smile. 

All the girls fancied him, and it made Tom hate them for daring to look at Harry like they did. 

Harry was sweet and lovely, and didn't deserve to be treated like a piece of meat. None of them were good for Harry; nobody would be but Tom.

Tom couldn't quite say when his affection and friendship turned into a crush, but he knew that his feelings for Harry were now stronger than ever. 

Tom didn't _do_ people. He’d grown up only ever able to rely on himself, and most of his ‘friendships’ were nothing but cosmetic, people who could be of some use to him in the future.

Harry was different, though. Harry had always been different. He was the one person Tom trusted and respected, the one person Tom gave a damn about.

The one person he might one day be able to fall in love with.

_20th June, 1996_

“I can't believe the OWLs are finally over,” Harry grinned, linking his arm with Tom’s as they hurried across the grounds of Hogwarts.

Night was falling, the sun already set low in the sky. Their curfew had been extended to allow them to celebrate the end of exams, and they were making the most of it.

Harry had been given a couple of bottles of Firewhisky by Sirius, and he and Tom had already almost finished one bottle between them.

The alcohol had brought a flush to Harry's cheeks and a smile to his face, and Tom thought he had never looked so beautiful. 

They stopped by a willow tree on the shores of the lake, stumbling over one another as they tried to sit down with their arms still linked. 

Harry laughed brightly, eyes almost glowing in the almost darkness.

Tom didn't even think before he kissed him. But then Harry was kissing him back, and everything was perfect.

**6th Year**

_2nd December, 1996_

Dating Tom was blissfully easy.

Going from friends to best friends to boyfriends felt natural, like things were meant to be, and nothing had changed between them but also everything had.

It was still easy for them to talk for hours, to have complete trust in one another, and to make each other smile like no one else could. But now there was kissing and touching as well, and Harry adored kissing Tom.

Tom’s lips were sinful, his fingers electric, and cosying up on sofas or in broom cupboards or empty classrooms to kiss and be wrapped up in one another was wonderful.

Every time they walked through Hogwarts together they would hold hands so everybody knew that they were off-limits now.

And even the people who disapproved of them together were too intimidated by Tom to say anything. Tom was polite and charming and almost everyone loved him—even the Gryffindors who’d initially been wary—but Tom also took no shit and everyone knew and respected that.

For the most part, though, their fellow students had accepted their relationship with ease. Hermione had told Harry she had seen it coming.

But really, Harry couldn't care less if the people around them accepted Harry and Tom together or not. All Harry cared about was the fact that he got to be with Tom, and he’d never been happier in his life.

_3rd March, 1997_

“How can you defend them?!” Harry hissed at Tom. “The Cruciatus Curse-”

“I'm not defending them,” Tom cut in smoothly. “I simply said it's Longbottom’s word against theirs and without proof I’m not going to make a judgement on Theo and Blaise.”

“Neville wouldn't lie about something as serious as that!” Harry urged in defence of his friend. “And besides, even if Neville was lying I still don't like Nott and Zabini. They're blood purists and into Dark magic, and I don't know why you still talk to them.”

“They're harmless,” Tom said easily. “And Dark magic...it's not as bad as you think, Harry; you're just buying into what the Ministry tells you. Obviously some spells have ethical implications, but so do some supposedly Light spells.”

Harry shrugged. Tom’s fascination with Dark magic worried Harry sometimes, and even though Tom swore his interest was purely academic, Harry still hated that Tom chose to hang around with boys whose interests weren't so studious.

“Couldn't you just stay away from them unless you need to, for me?” Harry asked softly. “I don't trust them, and I don't want them trying to influence you.”

Tom scoffed. “I can look after myself.” But his expression softened and he leaned in to kiss Harry gently. “Thank you for being concerned for me, Harry, but really, everything will be fine.”

Harry tried to ignore the lingering discomfort and lost himself in Tom’s lips instead.

_25th June, 1997_

Lounging under a tree by the lake, with Tom’s body on top of his, their lips moving soundly together as the sun shone warmly onto them, it was easy to ignore the stress of the last year.

Exams and homework felt a world away, and even Tom's unsavoury friends couldn't bother Harry in that moment.

“One more year to go, then we’re free,” Tom murmured against Harry's lips. “We're going to be great, you know; we’re going to be able to do anything we want.”

“That sounds great,” Harry said softly, running his fingers through Tom's hair. “Me and you versus the world.”

“We’ll always win,” Tom said confidently. “Together we can't lose.”

**7th Year**

_1st November, 1997_

“Will you stop biting your nails?!” Tom hissed at Harry. “There's no need to look so nervous.”

“Didn't you hear McGonagall?” Harry retorted sharply. “The NEWTs are getting closer and closer and unless we focus-”

“You’ll do fine, Harry,” Tom insisted. “You're clever, and the fact you're worried _now_ means you're hardly going to throw everything away at the end of the year.

Harry wasn't naturally smart like Tom, but he was intelligent enough, and with a bit of focus he did do well in exams. His exam-confidence was low, though, and it was that which held him back.

Tom couldn't imagine having a lack of confidence in any area of his life.

“I’ll even help you set up a revision plan,” Tom added, noting that Harry still didn't look at ease. “But relax for now, okay? You're going to do fine.”

_31st December, 1997_

“It's beautiful.”

Tom looked down at the bracelet Harry had given him, a simple but stunning silver band that was etched like the body of a snake, the opening raised like a snake’s head, and was masculine but elegant all at once.

“I thought of you as soon as I saw it,” Harry said with a smile. “I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but then I thought it would be more special as a birthday present.”

“I love it, thank you,” Tom said softly, sliding the bracelet onto his wrist where it fit perfectly. 

He leaned in to kiss Harry, but found Harry's response slightly uncertain.

“Everything alright?” Tom asked, pulling back.

Harry dropped his gaze and wrung his hands together, and his cheeks flushed pink.

“I have another present for you actually, if you want…” Harry said, so quietly that Tom could only just hear him. 

“If I want?” Tom repeated with an amused smirk. “And what is it?”

Harry didn't answer, instead falling flat on the bed and pulling Tom on top of him before drawing him into another kiss.

Harry took Tom's hand and moved it between their bodies, ghosting over Harry's prick and going further still, right between Harry's thighs.

Oh.

They had yet to have sex, though Tom had always been rather keen. But Harry, the big romantic he was, had wanted to wait and Tom had respected that. But if Harry was ready now…

The wait had been worth it, and later, as Tom blissfully buried himself deep inside Harry's body, he knew he would never want to share his life with anyone other than Harry.

_30th June, 1998_

Tom didn't do well with feelings. He didn't understand how to empathise with people, and didn't see the need to.

But as a result he never knew had to handle people crying, not even Harry.

Especially not Harry.

“I don't see what the deal is,” Tom said with a huff. “So I hurt that third year a bit too badly...it was only an experiment.”

“An experiment?!” Harry cried incredulously. His face was pink and blotchy with tears, his hair wilder than usual from where he’d tugged at it too hard. “You call slicing a kid’s arms open an experiment?! You almost killed him! Oh my God, Tom...”

“He survived,” Tom said dismissively. “It's not like I aimed to kill him.”

“That's not the point!” Harry hissed. “That was Dark magic! I knew your friends were trouble!”

“I make my own choices, Harry, don't forget that,” Tom said darkly.

“Don't you even care what you’ve done?” Harry cried, and when Tom didn't answer he said, “you don't, do you? I can't do this anymore, Tom.”

“What?” Tom asked sharply. “Harry-”

“Unless you're prepared to turn your back on Dark magic, I...I don't want to be around you anymore. I’ve ignored it and made excuses for too long, but you're hurting people now.” Harry swiped at his eyes. “Aren't you going to say anything?”

“I’m sorry you couldn't understand me,” Tom said simply, and Harry left in a flood of fresh tears.

Tom sank into a chair, running his fingers over the bracelet Harry had given him. He felt angry and detached all at once, and the thought of Harry never talking to him again made Tom feel like he had lost a part of himself.

But Dark magic was addictive and made Tom feel powerful; he could accomplish so much through it. And if Harry couldn't understand that, it was his fault they were apart.

And with Harry gone, Tom didn't have anything to care about anymore, and caring about Harry had always held him back. He had no reason to stay quiet anymore—Tom could now simply go ahead and conquer.

Because if Tom couldn't have Harry, then he was going to have the whole Wizarding World instead.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that there was a bit of wait for this chapter but I was on vacation for two weeks.

Tom hated pink. 

He hated pink walls, pink teacups, and pink doilies. He hated pink hats and pink dresses, and the pink, round face of Dolores Umbridge. Umbridge was vile, both in looks and personality.

Umbridge was also the Minister for Magic, and had been ever since Cornelius Fudge’s _unfortunate_ accident three years ago. 

Yes, Umbridge was as ugly as a toad, favoured a garish colour scheme, and was irritatingly simpering, but she was easy to manipulate and she simply _adored_ Tom.

He had gotten to know her just after he graduated Hogwarts, when he’d taken a job as an intern in the law offices of the Ministry. Umbridge loved to giggle and chat with him, and after her promotion following Fudge’s death she instantly gave him a job as her personal advisor. 

‘ _You’re smart and your ideology is perfect for the direction I want to take the Ministry in_ ,’ she had told him. ‘ _You and I can do great things together_.’

And despite his hatred of Umbridge, she did have her uses. She was naturally ruthless and a born leader, and ruled her staff with an iron fist. She believed in the importance of blood purity and keeping Muggles away from their world, and under Tom’s influence had begun to truly agree with his views on Dark magic as well. Her staff listened to her, as they were too afraid to do otherwise, and the public blamed her for the drastic changes the Ministry was undergoing.

It was perfect, really. Umbridge could take all the flack as they underwent their revolution, and when everything was ready Tom would take what was rightfully his. Because Umbridge certainly didn’t _deserve_ to be Minister, nor did the Undersecretary, or any other of the higher-up politicians. They did well as mindless puppets, but nobody but Tom truly held the skill it required to lead the Wizarding community. 

“I was thinking,” Tom murmured, leaning across Umbridge’s desk and giving her a flirtatious smile. Umbridge giggled, still oblivious to the fact that Tom felt zero attraction to her or indeed anybody, and never had done apart from… “We need to hold a charity event of some kind, perhaps a ball. There’s a lot of talk in the _lesser_ newspapers that the Ministry don’t care about the community, but to throw a party in the _public’s_ celebration, as well as raising money for an important cause...well, it can only make people look bad if they try and find problems with a charity event.”

“Yes, yes, that’s good,” Umbridge nodded, clapping her hands together excitedly. “A marvellous idea, in fact. After all, we need to show the public that _deep down_ we’re really no different to them.”

They exchanged a look of amusement, because of course _they_ knew that they were better than the general public, but obviously that wasn’t the message they wanted to put across.

Tom opened his mouth again to suggest a charitable cause when a frantic knocking at the door interrupted him before he could start.

“I’m terrible sorry to interrupt, Minister,” old Cecil Copperford, assistant to the Head Auror, said, bowing his head. “But the Aurors have arrested some more of those protestors and we were told you wanted to be informed.”

Umbridge nodded. “Their names?” she said sharply.

As some of the bills that Umbridge had passed recently had been more than controversial, they’d had quite the problem with protestors within the Ministry. Unfortunately the protestors were smart and hadn’t done anything violent or aggressive that warranted the Ministry holding them for more than a few hours for disturbing the peace, but they were still making the Ministry look bad. The sooner they were dealt with, the better.

“Hmm,” Cecil murmured. “Let’s see, there was Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon, Gideon Prewett, _Fabian_ Prewett, Emmeline Vance, Sirius Black, Harry Potter-”

The rest of the names didn’t matter to Tom anymore. 

Harry Potter.

Tom hadn’t seen or heard from Harry since graduation, ever since Harry had decided that Tom was too _Dark_ for him or whatever stupid reason Harry had come up with. Not that it mattered to Tom anyway, because relationships made people weak and Tom worked better alone. He certainly didn’t ever miss Harry, because how good had that silly, naive little boy really been for Tom? 

But still…

“I know this might sound rather unorthodox, Minister, but I wondered if I might go and speak to one of the protestors,” Tom said, stopping Cecil’s droning voice in its tracks. 

“You’re not an Auror,” Cecil pointed out.

“He didn’t ask you!” Umbridge snapped, before turning a sickeningly sweet smile on Tom. “Why do you wish to speak with such… _scum_?”

“I went to school with one of them—Harry Potter,” Tom answered casually. “I thought that perhaps speaking to somebody he knows, and somebody who isn’t an Auror, might be enough to convince him to take their nuisance protests elsewhere and away from the Ministry. Ideally we’d stop them altogether but those kinds of people tend to be dreadfully stubborn. And perhaps-”

Tom paused to glare at Cecil, who Umbridge promptly shooed from the room before fixing Tom with a conspiratorial smile. 

“If they take their protests to an outdoor and public setting then they’ll be much easier to infiltrate,” Tom continued. “At the Ministry they’re distrustful of outsiders, but in a place like Diagon Alley it would be impossible for them to control the crowd and know what kind of people are joining in with them. We could ruin their image, find out who the ringleaders and the real trouble-causers are; the possibilities are endless.”

“I always said you had a brilliant mind, Tom,” Umbridge beamed. “Do you really think this boy will be willing to move their protests if you ask?”

“He always was a stubborn thing,” Tom admitted. “But I’ll give it my best go.”

\- - -

Cecil looked mildly disgruntled after Umbridge gave express permission for Tom to go and talk to the prisoners, but he soon wiped the look off his face after a stern glare from Tom. 

The Aurors were surprised to see Tom but were loyal supporters of Umbridge, so they had no problem taking the note and allowing Tom to go into the holding cell area. One of the guards pointed out Harry’s cell to him and asked if he’d like extra security inside.

“I can handle myself, I assure you,” Tom said, giving the guard a smirk before stepping inside the cell which held Harry.

The room was barren and bare, save for a small metal desk and two metal chairs on either side of it, all bolted to the ground. Harry was facing the other wall, and his back tensed when he heard the door open but he didn’t turn around, allowing Tom a moment to compose himself. Just the sight of Harry’s wild black hair, wilder than it used to be, was enough to hit Tom with a wave of longing which he quickly shoved back down, deep inside of himself. 

Harry still looked lean, and though it was hard to tell with him sitting down it looked like Harry had finally had a decent growth spurt, though he still had nothing on Tom who’d been blessed with a tall height and the gracefulness to pull it off without looking gangly.

Harry’s arms were on the desk, his wrists bound by thick metal bands which held him in place, and also gave Tom the perfect opening line.

“I always wanted to see you in handcuffs,” Tom drawled, smirking as Harry’s hands jerked against their bindings in his desperate attempt to swivel round.

“Tom?” Harry exclaimed, eyes wide, and greener than Tom remembered. But the sight of Harry’s face took the smirk right off Tom’s.

“What is that _tack_ in your nose?” Tom asked in horror, eyeing the silver hoop that pierced Harry’s nose with great distaste.

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s called _style_ , Tom. I thought you’d have known that.”

“It’s tack,” Tom repeated. “ _Muggle_ tack, at that.”

“Right, I forgot you hate Muggles now,” Harry muttered disdainfully. “Liking the Dark Arts just wasn’t enough without anyone to use it on, was it?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry,” Tom said icily, stepping behind Harry and wrapping his fingers loosely around the back of Harry’s neck, forcing him to look away from Tom.

“Yeah?” Harry snarled, staring straight ahead of him. “I might not know why you decided that becoming a blood purist was a good idea, but I know that there was one time when you just loved to _fuck_ this certain quarter-Muggle boy.”

Tom moved his hands to Harry’s shoulders and gripped hard, leaning in to hiss in Harry’s ear. “I was a fool back then, but I got over it. You, as it would appear, are still nothing but a naive little _idiot_ who fails to see the dangers of continuing to live as we are.”

“God, Tom, what happened to you?!” Harry cried, the metal shackles around his wrists clanking as Harry tried to move his hands again. 

Tom moved round the other side of the desk, taking a seat on the cold metal chair and leaning forwards so that he was only inches away from Harry.

“I moved on...became successful,” Tom answered simply. “I found a home in the Ministry where they shared my ideals and helped me _thrive_ , rather than holding me back like you did.”

“Hold you _back_?” Harry repeated faintly. “God, Tom, I...I wanted to _help_ you. I thought maybe by sticking with you then it would be enough to keep you from this path, but making so many excuses for you all became too much for me. Ron and Hermione were right when they said-”

“Said what?” Tom asked sharply, eyes flashing as Harry paled. “I knew they were twisting your head, poisoning you against me.”

“They didn’t…! Fuck, Tom!” Harry shouted. “They knew how upset I was because of you and they told me that I couldn’t help somebody who didn’t want to be helped. And look at you! You’re thriving! You clearly didn’t want my help but that doesn’t mean I was holding you back; I just cared about you.”

“So caring, of you the way you abandoned me,” Tom retorted idly, picking at his perfectly manicured nails. 

“I didn’t fucking...ugh!” Harry sighed. “Why are you even here? Wait! You’re not even a fucking Auror!”

“No, the Minister gave me permission to speak to you,” Tom explained, giving Harry a cold smile. “Because you and I used to be so close, we believed that you and I may be able to come to an agreement regarding these silly protests you’re so insistent on getting involved in.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Silly protests? Yes, you’re right; cutting unemployment benefits is such a _fucking_ silly thing to be upset about. Especially for people like werewolves or the disabled who are discriminated against so much they can pretty much never get a job in the first fucking place.”

“Tsk, such language, Harry,” Tom scolded. “If you’re not careful I’m going to have to bring out the whips and chains, but then again, you’d probably like that.”

“You’re a pig,” Harry snarled, but Tom was undeterred.

“I know we were just teenagers at the time, but you always did seem to like the rough stuff,” Tom continued with a smirk. “Was this your ploy all along? Can’t get anyone to treat you right in bed so you pretend to care about the worthless just so the Aurors tie you up instead?”

Tom’s smirk vanished when cold spit hit the right side of his face.

“Fuck. You.” Harry hissed, eyes glistening wet behind the glare he was giving Tom.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, allowing him chance to compose himself before he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face clean.

“Right, well you’ve just committed assault against a Ministry official,” Tom said simply. “Don’t worry, it’s not enough to send you to Azkaban but you’re going to be seeing a lot of this room for the next three to five days.”

“What? Tom? You can’t do that!” Harry protested angrily, but he fell silent at Tom’s glare.

“You need to learn to respect your superiors, Harry,” Tom drawled with a sarcastic smile. “When you’re less inclined to act like a petulant child, then I’ll talk to you again. I’m not finished with you, by any means.”

He left a half-spluttering, half-fuming Harry behind and exited the holding cell with a controlled and poised expression. It was only when he was alone, ducking into a disused office, that he allowed himself to fall back against a wall and close his eyes. 

It was entirely wrong, and entirely _plebeian_ , but Tom simply had to slide his hand beneath his trousers and take his erection in hand. He’d begun getting aroused almost as soon as Harry had first opened those pretty lips of his, and by the end of their encounter Tom was achingly hard. 

Tom picked up the pace, stroking himself furiously as he imagined kissing Harry’s red lips and biting them until they bled, or taking Harry’s delicate wrists in hand and just fucking _breaking_ them and kissing them better. He wanted to fuck Harry until he was screaming Tom’s name, screaming for _forgiveness_. 

Tom stifled his moan as he came over his fingers, his chest rising and falling heavily. 

Five years. Five _damn_ years without Harry in his life and then a single meeting made Tom feel like his heart was crushed in his chest again.

Tom didn’t want a heart. He didn’t want to feel. That made people _weak_ and Tom was anything but weak.

He hadn’t lied to Harry, though. He definitely wasn’t finished with him yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be from Harry's POV :)
> 
> And yes, Tom is kind of an asshole but don't we all love a Tom who's kind of an asshole sometimes? :D This is definitely going to be a complicated love/hate relationship with plenty of UST (and also plenty of RST ;D)


	3. Three

The Hog’s Head roared with cheers when Harry stepped through the door, and he immediately found himself being hoisted into the air by the Prewett twins. 

“Let’s give it up for our favourite convict,” Fabian grinned, pumping a fist in the air.

Sirius cleared his throat.

“Second favourite convict,” Gideon corrected before they both set Harry back on the ground again. “Aberforth, another round for all, and put it on Fabian’s account.”

Aberforth snorted and shook his head. “I’m not getting into a fight with your brother, lad.”

Harry grinned, and made his way over to the long row of tables that were pushed together to fit all of the members of their activist group, _The Phoenix Rangers_. In fact, most of the pub patrons were members, save for a handful of hags and bearded old men who sat in a half-drunken daze across the other side of the pub.

Sirius stood to greet Harry but Marlene McKinnon pushed in front of him, sweeping Harry into a tight hug. She’d barely released him when Marlene’s girlfriend, Dorcas Meadowes, took her place, steering Harry to the table with her arm still wrapped tightly around him.

“You have to tell us _everything_ ,” Dorcas urged. “I’ve never been arrested for longer than a few hours.”

“I have,” Marlene muttered, a wide grin on her face.

“Me too,” Sirius added. “Maybe you heard about it.”

“Perhaps once or twice,” Gideon replied, taking a seat at the table along with his brother. “Some mild Ministry error, wasn’t there?”

“Something like that,” Sirius deadpanned, before he shot Harry an affectionate smile. “But how was your first arrest, Harry? We heard you assaulted a Ministry worker. Merlin, I’m proud of you.”

“I didn’t _assault_ a Ministry worker, I just spat at him,” Harry corrected with a shrug. “And honestly, the whole thing was really boring; I just sat in a Ministry holding cell for two days and then they came in and gave me a verbal warning and told me not to do it again.”

“How come you spat at him?”Emmeline Vance spoke up curiously. 

In fact the entire table had gone quiet as they looked towards Harry—even Aberforth was slowly polishing the same spot of glass over and over as he glanced at him out of the corner of his eye—and Harry felt his face flush slightly.

“It might have been, er, an old school friend,” Harry admitted; the whole group knew about Tom thanks to Sirius’s many rants about him. 

And as usual, Sirius couldn’t resist an opportunity to talk about him.

“Tom? It was Tom Riddle?” Sirius exclaimed loudly, and when Harry nodded Sirius banged his glass on the table approvingly. “Good, the nasty piece of work deserved it.”

“Aww, your ex?” Marlene cooed. “That’s kind of cute.”

“Cute?” Sirius repeated faintly. “Harry gave everything to that boy for _years_ and then he provokes Harry into attacking him and arrests him for it! Always knew he was a prick.”

“You used to like him,” Harry pointed out with a frown. “He helped get you out of Azkaban.”

“Yeah, he was a good kid who turned into a shitty adult,” Sirius muttered darkly, taking a deep swallow of whisky when Aberforth levitated the tray over to them.

Truth be told, Harry didn’t feel anger towards him like Sirius did. Tom had meant so much to Harry when they’d been young, and Harry had cherished him dearly, and he felt sad that Tom had gone down the path that he’d chosen. He blamed the other Slytherins for poisoning Tom with their anti-Muggle mindset; Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott had both been particularly obnoxious and open about their beliefs, and Harry believed that they were the one who’d first got Tom interested in Dark magic. Harry hated what Tom believed in, but he didn’t know if he really hated Tom himself.

Harry didn’t believe Tom was bad to the bone, no matter how much he tried to appear it. And even five years later he still felt guilty for giving up on Tom and abandoning him, but Harry had honestly found himself exhausted trying to deal with Tom’s blossoming Dark magic obsession. It had done him good to get away from Tom, admittedly, but it still meant he’d lost a big part of himself and it wasn’t easy to get over. 

Still, Tom had been a massive asshole at the Ministry, and the fact he was willing to work with the incredibly despicable Umbridge didn’t suggest a massive amount of faith for Tom. Minister Umbridge was a vile woman and Harry didn’t even know how Tom could manage to be around her without shuddering or hexing her. 

“So what did I miss these last two days? Lady Lucifer ruined anyone else’s lives yet?” Harry asked, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as the eyes around him narrowed.

Even though he was the youngest member of the group by far—most of the others being old friends of Sirius, or even older—they all shared a love of social justice, and a hatred of Umbridge. They were all in agreement that she was the worst Minister the Ministry had seen in any of their lifetimes, and was actively making life not just difficult but almost impossible for certain groups.

“She’s proposed a new proposed law that suggests vampires should be collared and made to do _Ministry service_ ,” Emmeline answered, eyes darkening. “Which basically means she’s trying to force vampires into slave labour.”

“Nasty piece of legislation,” Andromeda Tonks, Sirius’s cousin, spoke up from down the other end of the table. “Oh, but they buried that piece of information with the _headline_ news of the last two days. Apparently there’s going to be a fundraising ball.”

“A fundraising ball?” Harry repeated faintly. “Fundraising for what? To get torture supplies for werewolves or something?”

“Don’t say that too loud or they’ll get ideas,” Gideon murmured. “Though what am I saying? I’m sure they’ve already thought of that.”

“Nobody knows what they’re fundraising for yet,” Marlene added. “There’s going to be a big reveal in a couple of days, as well as news about celebrity performers and speakers. Only Ministry workers are invited though they’re allowed to bring non-Ministry guests, but everyone is encouraged to donate money once they announce the cause.”

“Because how can a Ministry working so hard to raise money for a charity also be a Ministry that oppresses minorities?” Dorcas added bitterly. Dorcas and Marlene were both black, but while Marlene was pureblood, Dorcas was Muggle-born and had experienced racism in the Muggle world. She had come to the wizarding world excited to see that race wasn’t an issue for magical folk, only to discover she was discriminated against for her blood type instead. 

Listening to the stories of the group’s members over the years, Harry knew that he was on the right path in life. He had a small part-time job and dedicated most of his time to activism, because even though he didn’t earn a whole lot of money, he’d rather do good than sacrifice his values for wealth. 

“Obviously we can’t protest or anything at the fundraising event,” Fabian said, sounding very displeased about the fact. “It would just make _us_ look like monsters if we ruined a charity event. Spoilsports.”

“It just gives us more time to watch,” Andromeda pointed out wisely. “An event like this is the perfect excuse to bury more serious news. We need to be scouring the papers and listening intently to the radio over the next few days; I’m certain something big’s coming, but we’re going to be ready for it.”

The others all nodded in agreement, and some clinked their glasses together in support. 

Their conversation turned lighter after that, and thoughts of Tom soon flew from Harry’s head. 

\- - - 

The heavy scent of coffee filtered through the air, warm and inviting, and quiet chatter filled the silence pleasantly. 

It was packed in _The Golden Cauldron_ , as always, and Harry couldn’t wait for his break. He’d been on his feet for two hours and had another two to go, and it felt like it had been non-stop ever since the start of his shift.

Still, Harry enjoyed his work even if it did get a bit hectic at times. 

He dodged one of his colleagues easily as he handed a latte to a waiting customer, smiling politely at her and keeping the semi-forced gesture on his face as he returned to the counter. 

His smile immediately fell.

“Tom?” Harry gasped, and he felt his face grow hot. “Are you stalking me?!”

Tom looked towards him and smiled as though he hadn’t heard Harry’s comment. “Harry? I didn’t know you worked here; you truly do live up to the hippie stereotype.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry hissed lowly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his manager who was overseeing the shift.

Tom followed his stare and smirked, his dark grey eyes lighting up as they focused on the manager’s badge pinned to the man’s shirt. 

“I’m here to get coffee, as one would expect when seen in a coffeeshop,” Tom answered lightly, clucking his tongue. “It’s a mere coincidence that we’ve run into each other, Harry. What do you think? That I browsed your arrest files to find out where you worked and then paid a hag to inform me when you arrived for your shift? That’s very paranoid thinking, Harry.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Tom’s specific thought process, but he couldn’t afford to make a scene in front of his manager. 

“Fine,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

“That’s not very polite, Harry,” Tom drawled. “Do you talk to all your customers that way?”

Tom waved towards the manager, and Harry stared with wide, horrified eyes as Cillian walked towards them with a frown on his face.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Cillian asked Tom in concern.

Tom shook his head and smiled brightly, looking every part the picture of innocence. Somehow that worried Harry more than if Tom had simply been going to complain about his service.

“Not at all,” Tom answered, flashing a dazzling set of teeth at Cillian, ever the charmer. “Harry and I used to be good school friends long ago and we haven’t spoken for _years_ ; I didn’t even know he worked here. I know this is a bit of an unorthodox request, and it’s coming from me entirely and not Harry, but I wondered if he might be able to take his break early so we could catch up. I would come back later but the Minister and I have a very important meeting which is going to take up the rest of the day.”

Harry shook his head silently but Cillian paid him no heed, focused entirely on Tom. Cillian was a fair boss who wasn’t too strict with rules anyway, but Tom’s connection with the Minister only sealed Harry’s fate further. 

“Of course he can!” Cillian beamed. “We have plenty of staff, so go catch up with your friend, Harry.”

“Er, no, I’m fine,” Harry protested. “I don’t want to leave anyone in the lurch.”

“I’ll chip in if need be,” Cillian said, patting Harry’s shoulder lightly. “Make your friend’s order and then you can join him for your break. What are you having, sir?”

“Americano, please,” Tom said. “And make yourself something too, Harry; you strike me as a mocha person.”

Harry was a mocha person. 

He made their drinks after Tom paid, of course with more money than necessary and an offer to “keep the change,” and strode over to the table where Tom was waiting for him. 

“Here to cause a scene?” Harry asked nastily he sat down, setting Tom’s cup down with a little more force than necessary and spilling coffee over the brim.

Tom tutted but simply cleaned up the mess with an elegant wave of his wand.

“Unlike you, Harry, I don’t wish to cause trouble in somebody else’s workplace,” Tom murmured. “I simply wished to talk to you, and I wanted to make the most of a situation where you can’t be immature or aggressive. Societal boundaries work wonders for getting your way when you know how to use them.”

“So what do you want?” Harry muttered, defeated. Tom was right that Harry couldn’t make a scene without getting sacked, but at least being in public meant that Tom also risked looking bad if he tried to start anything.

“Can’t a man simply want to catch up with an old friend? An old _lover_ ,” Tom purred, taking a sip of his coffee and looking at Harry over the brim of his mug, his grey eyes smoldering.

Harry wasn’t charmed, even though he heart did flutter a little bit at the sight. “You had me arrested last time we were together,” Harry pointed out, sitting back as he waited for Tom to blame him for that.

“Yes, I feel _dreadful_ about that,” Tom said instead. “I realise now I may have overreacted, but seeing you for the first time in so long brought back some painful memories for me.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Tom had never, in all their years together, admitted to feeling bad about anything, and he never apologised. 

“Oh,” Harry murmured, not sure whether he believed Tom or not. Logically he knew that Tom was probably lying to get Harry to relax around him a bit more, but in his heart Harry wondered if Tom still held affection towards Harry despite all their time apart; Harry certainly felt some towards Tom. “That’s er...well I shouldn’t have spat at you. We were both pricks that day. You more so, but still.”

“Hmm,” Tom smirked. “I aware you’re on a time limit, so forgive my bluntness, Harry, but I was wondering if you had a date to the Ministry’s fundraising ball yet.”

Harry blinked. “The Ministry’s ball? Why the hell would I want to go there?”

“Oh, of course, you don’t know what we’re fundraising for yet,” Tom said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “I shouldn’t really be telling you this because the general public are finding out tomorrow morning, but we’re fundraising to get support for abused magical children; that’s something you’d know all about, isn’t it?”

Harry promptly choked on his mocha. “Abused chil…? I wasn’t _abused_ -”

“Your relatives locked you in a _fucking_ cupboard, Harry,” Tom cut in, eyes glistening dangerously. “You and I both had less than ideal childhoods which could have been prevented had the Ministry actually had a system in place to support us. And regardless of your feelings towards the Ministry, I thought the cause itself would give you enough reason to want to attend.”

“I’ll just donate money from afar or something, I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll be wanted there anyway.”

“On the contrary,” Tom said smoothly. “I would like to invite you as my companion for the night.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’m sorry?” he muttered, bewildered, sure he must have misheard Tom.

“I’d like you to join me for the evening at the Fundraising Ball,” Tom repeated. “For old time’s sake. As I said to you at the Ministry, I really would like to talk to you more. Plus it’s for a very good cause.”

“Yeah, still not keen on the whole Ministry aspect of it all,” Harry murmured softly. 

Tom made everything so confusing. Tom was horribly addicted to the Dark Arts and had terrible political views, but part of Harry still couldn’t bring himself to hate Tom entirely, and wanted to save him from his own darkness. 

“I’ll also be willing to donate a very large amount of money towards the fundraiser if you come with me,” Tom added, giving Harry a pointed look. 

“Are you trying to bribe me into going with you now?” Harry asked incredulously. 

“It’s hardly bribery when I’m offering to give money to _charity_ ,” Tom retorted smoothly. “So what’s your answer?”

A few seconds silence passed between them before-

“Fine,” Harry said. “I’ll go with you. But don’t expect me to play pretend pureblood; that’s your game.” 

Tom smirked. “Please do take that tacky ring out of your nose before the ball, though. And find something _smart_ to wear.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said, grinning wickedly. “I have something in mind.”

\- - -

Harry hummed to himself as he strolled down the streets of Muggle London, earbuds in his ears as he listened to his Walkman. He had a plastic bag in his grip, holding his outfit for the fundraising ball; he couldn’t _wait_ to see Tom’s expression when he saw what Harry was wearing.

Harry paused as he noticed a stream of rainbow flags going across one of the storefronts, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was an LGBT bookstore. Harry wasn’t one for reading, truth be told, but he always liked to support shops like those when he could. Sirius was rather fond of gay literature, so Harry pulled his earbuds out and paused his Walkman, and entered the store to find a gift for Sirius.

There was nobody else in the shop beside from the till clerk, a man around Sirius’s age with sandy brown hair streaked with grey, and who was wearing a slightly worn looking t-shirt. He looked up when the bell over the door rang, and at the sight of Harry his face paled and his unusual, amber coloured eyes widened. 

“Er, hi,” Harry said, unsure how to proceed when the man looked so alarmed to see him. “Are you...closed? I can leave.”

“No, no,” the man said hurriedly. “We’re not closed, please, do come in.”

The clerk came out onto the storefront and wiped his hands on his corduroys, before fixing Harry with a strained smile.

“Is everything alright?” Harry asked uncertainly. “You look a bit…”

“Yes, I’m fine, sorry,” the man answered quickly. “You just look a lot like somebody I used to know, except the eyes. It just took me by surprise, that’s all. I’m Re… _sorry_ , Ricky. Let me know if you need help with anything.” 

“Sure, yeah,” Harry said, frowning.

The man, Ricky, didn’t make Harry feel uncomfortable or anything, and he didn’t strike Harry as suspicious, but rather Ricky looked so nervous, almost terrified, that Harry felt a bit concerned for him.

Harry browsed the shelves and found a romantic novel about two bikers—right up Sirius’s alley—and took it to the till for Ricky to scan.

“I, uh, like your t-shirt,” Harry commented as he handed the book over, nodding towards the graphic of a wolf howling at a full moon. “They’re beautiful animals, wolves. So intelligent, too. It makes me sad that people want to kill them.”

Not that Harry could mention it to a Muggle, but as well as feeling sorry for wolves he also felt sorry for werewolves, who were incredibly ill-treated not just by the Ministry but most of the public as well. Sirius was particularly passionate about fighting for werewolves; he’d told Harry he had been good friends with a werewolf once until he’d fled the Wizarding World and was never seen again. Sirius didn’t speak about his friend often; the look of pain he’d get on his face when he mentioned him was the same that Sirius had when he spoke about Harry’s father.

“Oh? Yes! Beautiful animals,” Ricky agreed, a sad smile crossing his face. “I don’t agree with people harming them, but I suppose people think they’re a danger.”

“Everything’s a danger if you’re not careful enough,” Harry hissed. “Nobody, animal or not, deserves to be hunted like that. Shit! Are you okay?!”

The scanner that been in Ricky’s hands had exploded while Harry was talking, but Ricky looked more _sad_ than in pain. 

“Fine,” Ricky murmured, shaking his hand which seemed thankfully uninjured, though Harry wasn’t sure how—Ricky must have gotten lucky. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this. I had the last couple of days off work ill and I’m still a bit out of sorts.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry smiled. “Well, er, thank you. I think my godfather is going to love this book; it’s totally his thing.”

“Godfather?” Ricky repeated faintly. “Ah yes, he’ll like it. I mean, I assume. Is he a biker?”

“Very much so,” Harry grinned; converting a Muggle motorbike to a flying version said it all about Sirius. “Well, thank you again. I’ll probably pop in again next time I’m in London.”

Ricky’s face paled even further, but the smile on his face for the first time seemed genuine. “I’d like that. Thank you, Harry.”

It was only when Harry got home that he realised he’d never given Ricky his name.


	4. Four

Tom took a sip of Scotch, watching over the brim of his glass while Draco fussed with his hair in the mirror. 

“Good job you’re checking your hair for flyaways again, Draco,” Blaise commented, giving Tom a sly smile. “Astoria will run a mile if you have a single strand of hair out of place.”

Draco flipped Blaise off through the mirror.

Theo snorted. “I hope not, otherwise Draco will have to spend yet another year working up the courage to ask a different girl out.”

“It will be fine,” Tom drawled idly. “Astoria strikes me as...unobservant, shall we say?”

“Clueless more like,” Theo added with a wicked grin.

“Can all of you shut up, please?” Draco hissed, turning around to glare at his friends. “And don't show me up tonight; I want my first date with Astoria to go perfectly.”

“I’ll warn you though,” Blaise smirked. “I know Daphne puts out on the first date but I’ve heard her sister is a prude. You won't be getting any tonight.”

“Astoria isn't a prude; Daphne’s just a slut like you,” Draco argued. “Besides, you're going alone tonight so you won’t be getting any either.”

“I can and will pick up any girl I want to,” Blaise said smugly.

“Aside from that blood traitor Weasley girl,” Theo murmured. “You couldn't get her into bed if you tried.”

“She's there tonight, so challenge accepted,” Blaise retorted, eyes glittering with confidence. “And Tom will be in luck, too.”

“Will I?” Tom asked, finally joining the conversation. He enjoyed listening to the banter of the people he supposed were his friends, but he didn't care enough to join in. “If you think Harry will fall in bed with me after tonight you really don't remember him very well.”

“He’s a hippie though, isn't he? I’d invite him on a date—uh, not _Harry_ specifically,” Blaise added hastily as Tom fixed him with a dangerous look; they all knew Harry was off limits. “But any hippie would do. They're all into that free love shit which means they're easy _and_ kinky.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Draco was right; you are a slut, Blaise.”

Theo snorted. “I don't know why you’re bothering to take Harry anyway. He's a blood traitor and a weird one at that, running around _protesting_ and crying about werewolves and house-elves.”

“You _know_ why I’ve invited Harry,” Tom pointed out, narrowing his eyes. “Or are you questioning my means, Theo?”

“Not at all!” Theo answered quickly. “I know you know what you're doing.”

“Good,” Tom purred, taking another sip of his whisky. “I have a feeling tonight is going to be a _very_ good night.”

\- - -

Tom waited outside the ballroom with Draco and Lucius by his side. Blaise and Theo had gone ahead, neither of them having dates for the event.

Draco's father was rather more interesting to Tom than Draco. Lucius was rich and powerful, and had many friends who were also rich and powerful. He was also loyal to Tom, respecting him as a superior, and had introduced him to many valuable connections. 

“Astoria said she'd be here at eight,” Draco said anxiously, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It's just turned eight now.”

“Women like to be fashionably late,” Lucius answered, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder comfortingly. “Why do you think your mother and Aunt Bellatrix aren't here yet?”

Lucius gave Tom a grateful glance at the mention of Bellatrix, who Tom had been able to release from prison along with her husband and brother-in-law. The Lestranges were unwaveringly loyal to Tom, and very invested and skilled in the Dark Arts.

Harry hadn't arrived to the ball yet either, but Tom didn't believe that Harry would cancel on him without warning; he was too noble for that. But turning up late to irritate Tom was certainly something Harry would do.

“Hello, Draco,” came a soft voice as Astoria approached, her curvy body clad in a modest purple dress, with her blonde curls falling gently to her shoulders.

Astoria did look the part of a Malfoy bride, and though her common sense was lacking she was at least a pureblood and had a respectful job as a journalist for the _Daily Prophet._ Tom did think she would be a good match for Draco, though Tom didn't particularly care for her.

“Hello, Tom...Mr Malfoy,” Astoria added, nodding at them as she spoke. 

Tom held back his scowl—because they’d loosely known each other at school Astoria believed them to be friends, and didn't treat or address Tom with the respect he deserved.

“You look lovely, Astoria,” Draco said loudly, the volume of his voice making Lucius wince. “You...what in Salazar’s good name are you wearing?!”

Draco was looking over Tom’s shoulder as he spoke, prompting Tom to turn around where he saw Harry waiting with a pleased grin on his face.

Tom didn't know whether he wanted to cast _Cruciatus_ on Harry and watch him writhe for being so insolent, or rip Harry's clothes off and fuck him against the wall, because Harry so boldly daring to defy Tom turned him on in ways Tom really didn't appreciate.

Not only had Harry left the tacky Muggle nose ring in despite the fact Tom had told him to take out, but Harry had also pulled his long hair into a messy bun on top of his head, and he was dressed in a red plaid suit, the trousers clinging tightly to his legs and tucked into leather buckled boots that looked like they belonged to Sirius Black and his motorbike.

Unknown to Harry, his choices would work out in Tom’s favour eventually, but until then Tom had to parade around in front of rich, powerful, and influential people, accompanied by his date who looked like a washed up potions addict.

“Hi everyone,” Harry greeted, ignoring Draco's insult. “It's been so long since I’ve seen you, Draco! How's your arse? It must be sore, still having a stick up it after all this time.”

Astoria giggled, and Tom watched as Draco's expression went from furious to mortified.

“And you!” Harry exclaimed, turning to Lucius who eyed Harry with great disdain. “You must be Legolas...I mean Lucius.”

Astoria laughed harder, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, I love Lord of the Rings,” she beamed.

“Lord of the Rings?” Draco repeated. “What’s that?”

“A book series,” Harry answered with a sly grin. “A _Muggle_ book series.”

Tom watched as Lucius blanched at the new knowledge that the girl his son was smitten with had some form of investment with Muggle culture. 

“Well,” Tom said charmingly before Lucius or Draco could hex Harry. “Shall we go in?”

He offered his arm out for Harry, prepared to act like the perfect date and gentleman regardless of how Harry dressed and acted. Tom had a reputation he wanted to uphold, and Harry wasn’t going to ruin that for him.

Harry eyed Tom’s arm warily for a moment but linked his own arm through Tom’s, giving him an obviously strained smile. “I did tell you I wasn’t going to play pureblood tonight, so I hope you’re not planning on parading me around like a trophy wife.”

“The only place Tom will be parading _you_ is to the nearest broom cupboard, to keep you hidden from sight,” Lucius muttered darkly.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, only moving forwards to stop from falling over as Tom continued on regardless. Lucius didn’t know about the Dursleys and the cupboard they locked Harry in, so his words were accidentally perfect for a cold response.

“I see where Draco gets his charm from,” Harry retorted, recovering quickly, though Tom could still feel the tenseness in Harry’s body. 

Even after all these years apart Harry was easy to read, his body language betraying all of his emotions. Tom didn’t feel emotions often, or if he did they were easy to push down and ignore—though when he couldn’t ignore them they hit him strongly and with great power. Harry, on the other hand, was weak to giving in to even the smallest emotion. 

In fact, most of the people Tom worked with were the same way as Harry; slaves to their emotions. Draco, Blaise, and Theo were the people that Tom considered to be his friends, but they often irritated him, and even older adults like Lucius and Umbridge were as equally pathetic when it came to containing themselves. 

It was why he was so fond of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was rather like Tom in temperament, although admittedly time in Azkaban hadn’t done wonders for her sanity.

The ballroom was crowded with people who were illuminated by glowing balls of luminescent magic; shades of pink, blue, purple, green, and yellow giving light to the otherwise dark room. An instrumental band were playing jovial music, loud enough to be heard but soft enough so that people could conversate over them. 

People looked happy and carefree, and that was how Tom wanted them to be. Carefree people didn’t pay attention to what was going on around them properly, and that suited his needs just fine. 

“Wow, you put a lot of money into this,” Harry commented, looking up at the banners and the streamers before his gaze finally landed on the ice sculpture of Umbridge which made him crinkle his nose in disgust, and Tom couldn’t blame him for that. “What paid for it? The money that could have gone to the unemployed, or the money that could have gone to emergency funding for newly bitten werewolves?”

Tom scoffed. “Where do you think the money I put forward for you agreeing to come with me tonight went? I’m joking, of course,” he added quickly as Harry gasped and tried to tear his arm away from Tom’s. “You’re so easy to wind up.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed. “Forgive me for not seeing the funny side in the Ministry’s cuts.”

Tom lowered his head to whisper into Harry’s ear. “We’re at a _fundraising_ event, Harry; we’re raising money to _help_ people. This is supposed to be a fun event; just relax.” 

Harry shivered, but finally managed to pull his arm free of Tom’s grasp. “Helping certain people doesn’t cancel out the people you haven’t helped. But you’re right; I’m not going to fight you at a charity event so I might as well make the most of this propaganda ball.”

“Such a cynic,” Tom tutted lightly. “I told you before anyway, I simply want to talk to you; catch up, as it were. I’m not parading you anywhere, but I would like to introduce you to some of my colleagues.”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed with a short laugh. “Meet your colleagues? They’re the last people I want to meet! _Especially_ Lady Lucifer.”

Tom couldn’t help but smirk at Harry’s nickname for Umbridge, and his smile only deepened when he saw the woman in question approaching them, clad in horrendously bright pink as usual. He couldn’t help but admit that he was intrigued to see Harry’s reaction to her; Harry clearly had no problems restraining his opinions, but whether he’d stay quiet for the Minister was yet to be seen.

“Minister!” Tom greeted with a false smile as Umbridge reached them, her beady eyes narrowing with disgust as they landed on Harry. “Lovely to see you.”

“Minister Umbridge!” Harry said in a high pitched voice, turning around and not bothering to hide the venom in his expression. “We were just talking about you.”

“You must be Tom’s… _friend_ ,” Umbridge said, looking Harry up and down disdainfully. Her gaze lingered on the nose ring and then on his scrunched up hair, before she plastered a false smile onto her face. “Tom has told me _all_ about you.”

“And _I_ have read all about _you_ in the newspapers, of course,” Harry replied, his voice equally as falsely sugary sweet. “I’m a massive fan of the way you continuously and systemically oppress minorities. Wouldn’t things be better if the only people who had rights were only the richest purebloods?”

“Hear, hear!” an old man cheered from nearby, and Harry scowled deeply at him, though it went unnoticed by the man in question. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said, poison lacing the sugar in her voice. “But I think you deeply misunderstand what the Ministry is trying to achieve.”

“No, I understand just fine,” Harry replied darkly. “You’re trying to achieve power for the rich and powerful, and the ability to deceive everyone else into thinking you’re somehow doing these things for _their_ benefit. I get it though; when you wear such garishly bright pink all the time it’s no wonder you’re blind.”

Tom finally decided it was time to intervene before Umbridge arrested Harry on the spot. Even though Tom had explained his reasoning to her about why he’d invited Harry, he could still see the fire of rage burning in her eyes. 

“Minister, you remember what I’ve told you about Harry?” he said apologetically. “I’d leave him to his way of thinking for now.”

Umbridge huffed, but her expression softened as she looked Tom over. “You’re right, Tom; you’re always so level-headed and considerate to those some would deem-” she sneered as she looked Harry up and down again-”lesser.” 

Thankfully being the Minister for Magic meant that Umbridge soon had her attention caught by somebody else, and she left before she or Harry could kill each other. And though his reasons for hating her were vastly different to Harry’s, Tom was glad to be rid of her; he really did like to spend as little time as possible with Umbridge. 

“What have you been telling her about me?” Harry asked with a huff, hand on his hip. “And more importantly, how have you spent so long working for that she-devil and not wanted to murder her yet?”

“Who says I don’t?” Tom retorted, lips quirked. “And I’ve not told her much, Harry; only about how much you care for minorities.”

“If you feel like you have to comment about somebody caring for minorities rather than assuming it’s a given characteristic, I think you’re spending time with the wrong kind of people,” Harry said dryly, and Tom pursed his lips at Harry’s irritating insistence. 

“Harry,” Tom said, trying to keep his voice calm despite his desire to snap at Harry to be quiet. “I want to have a nice time with you tonight; let’s not argue. I know we have some differences but we used to get on so well...don’t you want to have just one night together where it’s like old times?”

Harry’s expression softened, and he gave Tom a small smile. “I suppose I can make an effort to not comment on your flaws, so long as you don’t make me talk to Lady Lucifer again.”

Tom snorted. “Of course; I would rather like tonight to go smoothly, which means I’d like to avoid a murder scene where possible.”

“You know where we can kill it, though?” Harry retorted, grinning and extending his arm to Tom. “On the dance floor.”

Tom grasped Harry’s hand firmly. “I’m leading.”

“You would say that,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t argue as Tom guided him over to the dancefloor. 

Draco was slow dancing with Astoria, and Blaise was making an attempt at getting Ginny Weasley to dance with him.

“He’ll be lucky,” Harry commented, noticing where Tom’s gaze had wandered. “Blaise is good looking, but everyone know he’s a conceited arse.”

Tom shot Blaise a glare as jealousy surged through him, and he ignored the bewildered look Blaise gave him in response, instead wrapping an arm round Harry’s waist and roughly pulling them close together.

Harry let out a cry of surprise as their bodies met, and the sound made Tom want to devour Harry’s lovely lip. His gaze dropped to Harry’s mouth, and he licked his own lips hungrily at the sight of the plump, red flesh that Tom yearned to sink his teeth into.

Tom glanced back up to find Harry watching him wide-eyed, frozen in Tom’s hold like a deer caught in headlights...or, more fittingly, like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator. 

Tom smirked, pressing his hand flat against Harry’s lower back so they were completely flush together. “I would ask if you actually want to dance and not just stand here, but I’m rather enjoying this silent side of you.”

That seemed to shake Harry from his reverie, and he fixed Tom with a cocky grin though it was clearly strained.

“You’re the one who wanted to lead,” Harry pointed out, placing his hand on Tom’s shoulders. “So lead.”

They hadn’t danced together for years, but even now they still moved easily together, swaying to the music like second nature. Despite his anger Harry really did submit beautifully, allowing Tom to guide their dance obediently and obligingly, not making a single stumble or misstep. 

As they danced through several more songs, sharing light conversation, Tom couldn’t help but think it felt right having Harry in his arms, _following_ him, and it only served to further Tom’s bitterness that Harry had turned his back on him. They belonged together, if only Harry would stop his infuriating campaign supporting Muggles and Light magic and come round to Tom’s point of view.

Until that happened though, Harry was his enemy. 

“I need to borrow you for a moment, Harry,” Tom said as the evening began to draw nearer to its close. “Come with me?”

Harry’s cheeks were flushed, and his lips even rosier. His eyes narrowed at Tom’s suggestion but he nodded reluctantly with a roll of his eyes, allowing Tom to pull him through the crowd. His eyes met Umbridge’s on the way and she gave him a sly smile and a nod, and Tom was pleased to note she was surrounded by many of the senior Aurors, lawmakers, and Wizengamot members. 

Tom gestured at the band to stop playing as he pulled Harry up onto the stage—somewhat roughly as Harry had tensed up when he’d realised where Tom was leading him.

“Excuse me, everyone, may I have your attention?” Tom announced, and the crowd fell silent at his words. 

Tom had always been able to command a crowd easily; public speaking had never made him nervous, and he thrived off the devoted attention that large groups of people doted upon him. 

Harry was looking at him with a mixture of apprehension and suspicion, but he didn’t flee off the stage. Tom had known he wouldn’t, because Harry wasn’t a coward and always took up a challenge no matter how much of a risk there was to himself.

“You all know me, of course,” Tom stated, catching Draco’s eye in the crowd and giving him a pointed look. Draco winked, oblivious to Astoria looking at him in concern. “But this,” he added, gesturing at Harry, “is an _acquaintance_ of mine, Harry Potter. And Harry here, well, Harry has been running around with that group of protesters who keep causing a nuisance here in our Ministry.”

There was a low rumbling of disapproval at the mention of the protestors, bringing an amused smirk to Tom’s face. Harry narrowed his eyes at him but still made no move to flee, but that was probably wise—to run now would make Harry look weak in front of a room full of people, some of whom were exceedingly powerful in the political world. 

“And as you can see,” Tom pressed on, “Harry dresses in a very outlandish sense, and has argued with the very Minister for Magic herself tonight as he lacks in decorum and propriety. However I didn’t bring Harry up here to call him out, but to demonstrate a warning. You see, Harry is a half-blood who was orphaned and forced to grow up with Muggles.”

Tom glanced at Harry who suddenly looked horrified, his eyes wide as he shook his head slowly at Tom; he hardly seemed to be breathing, but Tom paid him no heed.

“Those _Muggles_ ,” Tom said dangerously, “withheld knowledge of Harry’s magical ability from him, verbally abused him, _psychologically_ abused him, struck him physically as discipline, and gave him a tiny cupboard for a bedroom, sometimes locking him in there for _days_ at a time...all because they hated Harry for being magical. And worst of all, they convinced Harry that he deserved it, and that _they_ were the victims in the situation for having to live with a _wizard_ in the house.”

Tom paused again, smiling at the angry muttering flowing through the crowd. He took another look at Harry who was still slowly shaking his head, tears glittering in his eyes as he looked at Tom with too many emotions on his face to tell them apart.

“We are here today,” Tom stated with finality, “to raise awareness and gather support for magical children who are abused by their Muggle caregivers. And Harry here is the perfect example of what happens to abused children who are left in that situation...they become _hippies_ who follow meaningless campaigns to try and fill the emptiness in their own lives, and in doing so add nothing worthwhile to society. This is not what we want our magical children to become, is it? Stabbing metal through their faces and taking low-level jobs so they can dedicate more time to needless activism? We here at the Ministry are doing the best for _everyone_ , and to fight against us to fight against the whole Wizarding World. But don’t blame Harry for his actions...he is a victim of Muggle brutality against wizards, and he deserves only pity.”

A large round of applause sounded, though a handful of people looked angered by Tom’s words but they were nobodies—Mudbloods and blood traitors who could easily disappear if they chose to cause problems. Astoria was also frowning, and Tom wondered if Draco knew that the girl he liked was not only dim-witted but a Muggle sympathiser too. 

As the applause died down, Tom turned to Harry, who was still frozen and had tears shining in his eyes, and gave him a cold smile. 

“Anything you’d like to say, Harry?” Tom offered cruelly, expecting Harry to finally flee in anger. 

Instead Harry nodded and stepped up to the front of the stage.

“Yes, actually,” Harry spat, forcing a smile onto his face as he looked out across the crowd. “I just wanted to _thank_ you, Tom, for using my childhood plight to bring awareness about what can happen to abused children. You did forget to mention, though, that neglect is also a terrible thing that can happen, and you’d know all about being neglected, wouldn’t you?”

Tom flashed Harry a dangerous smile, but Harry ignored him. Like Harry before him, Tom couldn’t run or stop Harry in what he was saying because it would draw more negative attention than good; Tom simply had faith that his reputation was far more respected and the public would take Tom’s word over Harry’s. 

“Most abused and neglected children don’t turn out as a danger to anyone but themselves,” Harry continued. “But there are a few—like Tom—who are nothing but cold-hearted bastards with zero capacity for compassion, and who use charm to manipulate everyone around them and in actual fact don’t give a single _fuck_ about anyone but themselves. And you know, Tom invited me here as a date tonight but the truth is Tom won’t ever know how to have a healthy relationship, and I have no intention of going home with somebody who doesn’t give a damn about me so...anyone want to take me home tonight? All that childhood abuse and hippie nonsense has left me an easy fuck and kinky as hell.”

Umbridge had finally had enough, sending a stream of Aurors towards them, but Tom held a hand up to stop her, watching icily as Harry jumped down from the stage where he was immediately approached by a leering Fenrir Greyback.

Harry looked back towards Tom, sticking his middle finger up at him and mouthing “fuck you,” before linking his arm with Greyback’s and allowing the sleazy werewolf to guide him out of the ballroom. 

Tom knew he shouldn’t be jealous of Greyback, who was nothing but a barbaric, animalistic half-breed, and that Harry couldn’t possibly have a good time with him, but all Tom wanted was to run after them and snap Greyback’s neck for daring to touch what belonged to Tom. 

He wanted to run and grab Harry before he allowed a werewolf to sully his body, or slice off Greyback’s slimy little cock before he could get it anywhere near Harry. 

Instead Tom simply stayed composed on stage and gave the crowd an amused smile, as though Harry’s departure hadn’t affected him in the slightest. 

“Well, let’s all give generously tonight, shall we?” he teased, getting a rousing round of laughter and applause in response.

Tom left the stage with one thought in mind; if Harry wanted to play around with werewolves, then Tom was going to play with them too—only he had a very different game in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an idea of what Harry's suit looks like, see [Here](https://media.gq.com/photos/568d56696aec210a6d1e5797/master/pass/Eddie-Redmayne-Suits-15-12-08.jpg) :D
> 
> And don't worry, this will be endgame Tom/Harry. But they are going to be as in-character as possible, which means Tom is going to be a lot of an arsehole before he comes to terms with his lingering feelings for Harry :)
> 
> Also, are you guys more interested in side-pairings of Draco/Astoria and Ginny/Blaise, or Ginny/Astoria and Draco and Blaise with other characters?


End file.
